DJ Chris Conner went by Conner at Mouse's Ear. He has great taste in music. He took most requests a dancer had, put them on our playlists, and actually played them. He didn't mind playing odd, sensual songs, obscure indie songs, or any other weird stuff one might find in 2006 Portland, Oregon. He played Appalachian fiddle music from time to time, and Dolly Parton classics. He is the DJ who introduced me to one of my all time favorite songs-- Steve Earle's “Copperhead Road,” a song I've requested at every workplace since Mouse's Ear. It was such a relief with Conner in the beginning. He used to criticize DJ Rob for making the dancers pick mainstream modern rap songs. He'd explicitly state that dancers should be listening to whatever made us feel most comfortable while we were on stage. He'd explicitly express his disgust for strip clubs that play excessive amounts of rap and other ass-obsessed music. While dancers were on stage, he'd cut the songs off at 3-4 minutes, instead of letting them drag on so we had to stay on stage for extended times we didn't want to be up there. Dancers were still being misclassified at Mouse's Ear by having to go on stage at all, wear heels, and have set lengths dictated by the DJ, but with Conner, it was a bit easier to ignore all of that, especially because there was almost always lots and lots of money to be made at Mouse's Ear by any dancer willing to hustle. I was financially very comfortable at Mouse's Ear.

Conner called the dancers “women” over the microphone instead of “girls.” When I told Conner that I really appreciated the fact that he was not patronizing dancers by calling us children, as so many men in the industry do, he told me that he is a feminist, and that as a male feminist, he tries to do the right thing in that regard. It's sad that I celebrate someone for being a half-decent person, but I am so used to dealing with utter garbage males in the industry, that I was willing to reward Conner with compliments. Similarly, for most of my time at Mouse's Ear, I gave Conner “tips” according to what he expected, even though I thought it was financial exploitation and extortion, even though my rights were being violated, even though if Conner was a real feminist, he would've badgered the Brownings for higher wages rather than expect it from the dancers. I let most of that slide for most of the time that I was working at Mouse's Ear.

I always hoped that Conner would spend some of those hundreds of dollars per night he got from strippers on dental care. His teeth were disgusting looking, rotting and stained all around the edges. His teeth and overall physical appearance fit a certain Appalachian stereotype. I always hoped Conner would spend some of the money that strippers were bullied into giving him on a gym membership. His face doesn't indicate how the rest of his body looks, but when he stepped out of the DJ booth and walked around the club, his lower half was stunningly pear-shaped and clinically obese. Most men don't accumulate fat in the areas of the body Conner does, so that was an oddity to see. One thing Conner did spend his money on were little vaporizing air fresheners and purifiers to keep in his booth. The vapor smelled like fruit loops or other fun scents, and were supposed to keep the air around him less toxic from all of the second hand cigarette smoke that he was constantly inhaling. I do wonder about Conner's health and the long term side effects of sitting in his DJ booth so long, and would like any readers to contact me with information about that. I highly doubt the Brownings gave Conner health insurance or a pension. Due to his poor health choices, he kind of looks like Uncle Fester, but with hair on his head instead of being bald. Here he is eating some unhealthy fast food with his family:

Conner told me that he worked at the club since the year 2000. I can't imagine him not being familiar with the previous lawsuit the Brownings were subject to. I think any DJ able to stay at a strip club for that long, without getting fired or quitting, must be an exceptional douche in order to survive, but Conner was an enigma to me in the beginning, because he seemed like a half-decent guy.

As mentioned in a previous post, dancers were not allowed to leave the dressing room at the end of the night while the club was closing up. Sometimes we'd sit up there, ready to go for a half hour or longer, very bored and eager to leave. It was the DJ's job to tell us when we could come downstairs. Sometimes when dancers went downstairs before Conner told us it was OK, or when dancers did other things to break rules, Conner would strictly tell us we were not allowed to “break protocol.” Sometimes while the Brownings were taking care of business downstairs closing up, but the dancers still weren't allowed downstairs, Conner would come up into the dressing room to hang out with us while we were waiting. There's a legend at Mouse's Ear that the location is some kind of portal to another dimension, or ulterior universe. It was rumored that ghosts haunted our attic dressing room. Conner had some kind of app on his phone that was a meter to detect ghosts. He'd walk around the dressing room like Mr. Funny Guy, scanning for ghosts with his phone meter app. Many of the dancers would be giggling, hooting and hollering as hicks might describe, while the meter sprung into high alert at certain locations within the dressing room. Appalachians have a tendency to be excited by all kinds of superstitious and paranormal things, while eschewing the scientific method. Christianity definitely has it's hold on Appalachia, but so does lots and lots of woo-woo.

Paranormal stuff aside, Conner considered himself to be a reasonable man of science. He visited Florida some time around 2019. Coincidentally, I visited Cape Canaveral to watch a rocket launch in 2019, so Conner and I discussed that a couple of times, and agreed that space exploration is cool. He used to wear some shirt he got on vacation, celebrating science.

There's a rip off scam artist mechanic garage in Knoxville called Pro Toy. They tried to sell me new brake pads when I did not need them, and tried to get me to replace my rack and pinion when I did not need it. There's all kinds of biblical scripture and bible stuff in the Pro Toy waiting room, and they do a great job of advertising. But, they're lying scam artists who I was able to see through. Pro Toy also happens to be where Conner goes to get his car worked on. He left them a great review online, and when I talked to him about it, he stated that they've gotta be honest because they are “super religious in there.” Dumb Conner was assuming that because they're bible thumpers and use their faith in the workplace, they're honest people with the clientele. I genuinely felt sorry for Conner about thinking all that, and recommended that he visit DJ Rob's Michigan guy out in Loudon instead. He didn't seem interested, to which I could only shake my head and walk away.

Conner was willing to play most of my song requests, but was apprehensive about my requests to play songs by the band Hole. He told me that he thought Courtney Love murdered Kurt Cobain, and expressed an overall disdain for her. He told me that he believed Courtney Love had a “darkness” about her. When I raised the suggestion that misogyny causes so many people think Courtney Love murdered her husband, it was as if he had never heard that notion before in his life.

From the very beginning, Alex Cave and I were at odds with one another, because I rarely even gave her a dollar. This has been covered already in the series. I am bringing it up again, because Conner didn't seem to be aware of it happening until about halfway through my time at Mouse's Ear, around August. Conner and Alex have been friends for a long time. Sometimes Alex filled in as DJ when Conner or Rob couldn't work. Around August, Conner decided to start harassing me for not giving Alex Cave my money. He did this in a variety of ways.

If I was going on or getting off stage, Conner started calling me “girl” instead of woman. He began liberally using the word “girl” to describe my coworkers, then making eye contact with me while smirking, as though he was expecting some kind of emotional reaction to his new anti-feminist vocabulary. Conner began letting my songs run for a long time past the 3-4 minute mark while I was on stage, so that the sum total of my time on stage was longer, I was spending less time on the show floor hustling, and forced to stay on stage when I did not want to be there. If I had a customer who I was about to give a couch dance to, he would get on the microphone as quickly as possible to announce there was going to be a 2-for-1 dance. I would have to sell my labor at half-price when he did that, forced to dance for two songs on the couch instead of one song, for the price of one song. He would do this repeatedly, only at times when I was going to give a dance, to ensure that I was making less money and using more of my energy. It was so degrading and upsetting, so counter to any feminist labor rights issues, but I pretended like it didn't bother me and just kept moving. He started shouting over the microphone at the customers that Alex Cave had to be tipped too, and go into detail about how hard she was working at the cash register. He'd engage in ridiculously long monologues about it.

Around the same time that Conner started with the Alex Cave stuff, he began signaling that he knew about my litigious history. Over the microphone, he would describe factors in the Economic Realities Test which favored the club's argument that dancers are contractors, such as our ability to pick up extra shifts or talk to whichever customers we wanted to.

It was also around this time that a dancer named Brazil started complaining about my superb hustling ability in comparison to hers. Brazil had never danced before, and complained to management that I had performed for customers who she also danced for. Brazil was under the impression that I was harming her, when actually I was just doing my job and was a much better salesperson than she was. She was unable to handle the competition, and victimized herself to staff. It became very convenient for Conner and Ralph to side with people like Brazil on the matter, rather than some Yankee villain who sells a fuck ton of dances, doesn't tip the wait staff, and has a history of suing clubs. So, Conner encouraged Brazil to bully me. If I was talking to a customer while most of the other dancers were upstairs in the dressing room, he would text them and tell them to come downstairs to surround me while I was making a sale. He'd play incendiary fight music, in an effort to arouse anger. When I told him that Brazil was threatening a different dancer, as she did from time to time, he brushed me off and ignored me. He'd play songs like “Karma Police” by Radiohead, as though I deserved to endure a toxic, violent workplace because I fight for labor rights and am good convincing clients to go to the ATM machine for me. Dumb people who are into woo-woo have a tendency to apply the word “karma” to whatever situation suits them.

Chris Conner is not a feminist at all. He is a disingenuous piece of garbage who is fine with misclassifying workers and punishing me for resisting, in any way he can think of. Deep into my Mouse's Ear employment, I was able to understand that Conner is the typical Leftist male who pretends to be progressive, but is in some ways worse than the average Trump supporter. Thus, I was relieved when blatantly slimy DJ Rob was working rather than Conner.

I have been called an emotionally “cold” person many times throughout my life. One way stoicism has helped me in the workplace is my ability to suppress the desire to express anger. It helped me out a lot dealing with Conner. Throughout all of his misogynist workplace abuse, I would approach his DJ booth to make small talk about feminism or science, current events or whatever, smiling and laughing as though nothing was happening. He looked utterly perplexed and downright angry that I wasn't responding to his harassment. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I kept that in mind each time I chit-chatted with Conner in my times of strife. At some point, he brought up my stoicism and said aloud,

“YOU DO NOT GET MAD!” confused, shocked, glancing around as though it was some great mystery, a mystery greater than ghosts in a strip club attic dressing room. I just laughed it off and continued talking to him about whatever. He seemed to really, really resent my jovial chit chat, and I liked that.

I was mad, of course. I was seething and fuming, and to this day I'd love to see a news report of Conner's tortuous death. If Ed Kemper somehow escaped from prison and decided to target strip club DJs, news of Chris Conner's head on a stick would fill me with nothing but excited joy.

Around October, I grew bold enough to not give him the roughly ten percent of dances sold that he expected. While he was walking me out to my car, I handed him $31. $31 is actually a very good amount of money to be giving a DJ, certainly more than I give most DJs. But, $31 was not ten percent, and far less than what he expected me to give him. So, he began shouting at me in the dark parking lot while I was approaching my vehicle, the same as DJ Rob did months before. DJ Conner's feminist male veneer was completely gone, and he fully became another entitled man in the strip club industry, harassing a frightened woman in a dark parking lot, in an attempt to shake her down for more money to compensate the slave wages that his employers paid him. What a fucking coward. What a fucking hypocrite. What a fucking misogynist.

When I got back to my room after Conner yelled at me, I checked my recording device. Unfortunately it was not working properly and I did not capture him on audio. I knew I would probably hear it from him the next day at work, so I made sure to prepare my back-up recorder and keep them both with me on the show floor. I'm really happy I did that, because the next day at work, Buddy had me come into the office with him at the beginning of my shift. Apparently whiny bitch Chris Conner had complained to Buddy that $31 was not a sufficient tip. In the office, Buddy started by explaining to me that it is an “industry standard” to give the DJ 10%. I suggested it's actually not an industry standard to do that and that I have never done that before Mouse's Ear. Buddy disagreed, and proceeded to do some percentage algebra for me with regards to how much money I was supposed to give Conner the previous night. After the math, Buddy started cryptically talking like a mafioso, telling me that I was “going to have a hard time making friends around here.” I had no friends at Mouse's Ear anyway, so I'm not sure what he was talking about. It was definitely threatening, but I was just like, “oh.” Fortunately, that conversation was recorded, submitted to the NLRB, and helped me out a lot. I'm not very tech savvy in terms of transferring the recordings to this website, but I'll try to upload those pieces somehow before the end of the series.

After Buddy's conversation with me, I continued to give Conner “tips” that were less than what he expected each night, and he continued to be angry about it. To this day, I am not sure why Conner would think that he could harass me for weeks while I gave him ten percent, incite fear and violence while I gave him ten percent, and then expect me to continue giving him ten percent after I spent weeks suffering. Early on when I submitted to giving DJ Rob ten percent, he was nice to me right afterwards. Even if Rob was just nice to me because I was paying him, the transactional relationship made sense. With Chris, I paid him what he expected, then he decided to torture me, then I stopped “tipping” him as much as he expected, and then he was confused about it. It's interesting to me that Conner was so willing to harass a dancer on behalf of Alex Cave, to stand in solidarity with her quest to get more of my money, but Conner and Alex were both too cowardly to unionize or demand a living wage from Buddy and Ralph. Their cowardice, their willingness to target a vulnerable stripper instead of their employer, is striking. Neither of those individuals are progressive. Neither of those individuals are willing to make any sort of change in the world whatsoever. They virtue signal liberal ideals on social media, but in practice they do the opposite. They are both disgusting people.

It's interesting to me that Buddy Browning was willing to give me a stern talking-to about Conner, but no such stringent pressure was applied about the wait staff getting paid. Yes, he allowed the wait staff to harass the dancers for money whenever they wanted, but he seemed eager to stand up for Conner in a way unmatched even for DJ Rob. Surely the misogyny of pay gaps between DJs and female wait staff had something to do with that. Surely the scarcity of reliable strip club DJs was part of that. I hope Conner knows that his staying at a workplace for twenty years and being defended by misogynist exploitative garbage like the Brownings is an integral part of how he lives his life, that there's nothing feminist about that.

On 10/17/2019, Conner told a dancer that he wanted to kill me. I never complained to the Brownings about it; by that time I was already planning my grand crescendo. Besides, Buddy already told me I would have a hard time making friends there in relation to not tipping Conner the amounts of money he found sufficient. It's such a sweet victory that I not only resisted Conner, but I also got back all of the money I did give him. I hope Buddy liked including all of Conner's tips into my settlement checks.